The Faceless Woman by Emma Hamm (i love reading .txt) 📕

each other. No longer Unseelie and Witch but something far more.

Bran panted through the pain and reached out a hand for her. “Cursed again, Aisling? Don’t worry. I’ll save you. I promise.”

The setting sun turned the waters pink, violet, and indigo. The rainbow colors glimmered all around her like a painting pulled directly from an artist’s mind. And she, the tiny swan set in the center to remind everyone there was beauty in the world.

Aisling adjusted her wings gracefully. She lifted one, then the other, stretching them out so she could stare along the gentle curves of the feathers. So pretty, each and every one reflecting sunlight like an opal. It was said that a single feather from her wing would feed a faerie family for centuries.

They had never seen someone like her before. It had been thousands of years since a Raven King had a consort. Even then, those who were alive during that time couldn’t remember what she looked like.

Some said she was the most beautiful woman in the world. When she sang, the sky would weep for the haunting sound. When she laughed, the trees dropped leaves so she might play and twirl beneath their branches. And when she cried… They did not speak of when she cried.

A soft downy feather floated from her neck and landed atop the water. It curved up at the edges. The current carried it toward the shore, but it never made it. Aisling violently shredded it with her beak, dipping it underneath the water time and time again until it was ruined.

“That wasn’t very nice,” a deep voice called across the waters. “We could have used that.”

She snapped her head up, glaring at Bran where he stood on the shore.

The Raven King stared back at her. He was himself, but not. The same man, same flesh, same body, and yet something was missing from the man she knew and loved.

He had let his hair grow out as they traveled to Underhill. No longer half shaved, tangled feathers grew through his long hair. He had braided small pieces of it, creating a wild tangle of raven, obsidian strands and Celtic knots.

Unlike his predecessor, Bran did not wear a cloak. He wore black leather armor, each piece crafted to depict the Wild Hunt. It stretched across his body to meet epaulettes crafted from dark feathers and black diamonds.

He held out his hand and called her name. “Aisling, it is time.”

And so it was, and so it would be, for all eternity.

She floated toward him slowly. They had all the time in the world and none at the same time.

The shore was a body’s length away from her when she stopped and tilted her head to the side. Bran smiled at her, his raven eye locked on her form as if she was the only thing that existed.

“You are beautiful,” he quietly said. “Even now. Even like this, you still captivate me.”

She ducked her head, shy and incapable of responding.

“Just a few moments now. Can you feel it?”

Every fiber of her being felt the moment. She knew the exact time when the moon would strike the water and the curse on her body would lift. The sun dipped below the horizon and silver light poured over the lake.

Its soothing touch spilled from her head to her toes. Water rushed up her body in a funnel that spun around her as her wings lengthened to arms and fingers, her webbed feet gave way to gently arched feet, and her elongated neck settled back on her shoulders.

Silver moonlight spun the droplets of water to pearls as they fell back to the lake.

Aisling sighed, lifted her arms to her hair, and took a moment to enjoy her body again. She stretched out her hands, staring down at the black tattoos that now spread all over her form. Ogham marks linked both arms, proclaiming her “Raven Consort.”

“Come here,” he called for her. “We have but a few moments.”

She waded through the water and raced to his side.

Bran caught her in his arms with a chuckle, tucking her against his chest until she could hear his heartbeat. He was warm where she was cold, strong where she was weak, and it felt so good to let him take the weight on her shoulders for a little while.

He leaned down and whispered a siren song, “Do you know the reasons I shouldn’t kiss you right now?’

“I can’t think of a single one.”

Bran pressed his mouth to her brow. “No one has ever taught me how to be soft with a woman. I touch you with hands that only know how to give scars.”

“Then add to mine, and I will wear them with pride, for I know they were given with the intent to heal, not harm.”

He slid his velvet lips down to her cheek, barely touching her. “You are so good, a light in my darkness, and I cannot snuff out another candle.”

“I know how to survive in the dark.”

Again, he moved, lingering on the end of her nose. He lifted a hand and gently scraped the claws across her neck. “You are the sun, burning my wings away. But I will laugh in bitter triumph as I tumble toward my end because I know I got close enough to kiss you.”

“You foolish man, I am not the sun, and you are not a winged creature. You are my Unseelie prince, and I am your witch.”

“My mother always told me if I saw something I wanted, I should take it.”

She surged forward, standing on tip toes until she could feel the heat from his mouth. “This is the first and only time I will agree with your mother.”

He spared a moment for a chuckle, then gave in to both their desires. Bran kissed her with the strength of the thousands of stars that stared down on them. She felt each one as they appeared, individual pinpricks of light creating constellations. She felt the colorful galaxies all compressed into